


Hold Me, Carry Me Slowly, My Sunlight

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Porn with some plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Songfic, and cant stop thinking about it, aziraphale can feel love, more hozier bc i am That Bitch, mostly crowley is desperately in love with azzy, which makes that whole thing kinda fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: Each day, you'd rise with meKnow that I would gladly beThe Icarus to your certaintyOh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlightStrap the wing to meDeath trap clad happilyWith wax melted, I’d meet the seaUnder sunlight, sunlight, sunlightA tender moment in some forgotten garden between an angel and a demon.





	Hold Me, Carry Me Slowly, My Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Another songfic bc ya girl is basic. This one is far more ~sexy~ than the others have been. Sunlight, by Hozier, which I decided was an Ineffable Husbands song the moment I heard it. Ridiculous. 
> 
> RIDICULOUS, I SAY! 
> 
> Enjoy, leave a comment if you like :)

Staring up at the light peeking through the canopy above him, Crowley marveled at the bands of it, the way dust floated through them, the warmth they gave when they touched the leaves, the ground, him. 

This wasn’t the Garden, wasn’t the Eastern Gate, but it was a warm place, pulsing with love and nature. The leaves above him swayed in the wind. 

A hand landed next to his left ear, another rested on his chest. 

“Where’d you go?” Aziraphale said above him, smiling radiantly. 

Crowley’s heart shuddered to a stop. 

“Right here,” he murmured back, and Aziraphale swept a thumb in a lazy half-circle over his skin. 

Aziraphale kissed him, soft and sweet and _warm_ , and this was all the demon would ever need. He would Fall all over again, would face against all the forces of Hell, would do anything—

“You’re very thoughtful today,” Aziraphale chortled, reaching up to trace over Crowley’s lips. “Care to share?” 

“Just admiring,” Crowley rasped, nipping at the pads of Aziraphale’s fingers. The angel hummed happily. 

For a moment, Crowley let himself be lost in the angel’s lips. He even pushed (gently) for more, nipped and sucked until the angel’s mouth was open against his. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the unpleasant clacking of teeth. Mostly, he enjoyed the urgency behind the action, the heat behind Aziraphale’s hands over his skin. 

He would shun everything for his angel. He would build a new Church, a church of worship, where sunlight reigned supreme. He’d always been drawn to the angel, from that first moment in the Garden, but devils on earth, he was trapped now, like a moth caught in the glass of a lantern. And he was all too happy to be stuck there. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, “you can’t _do_ that to me.” 

Crowley growled lowly. His fingers glided up Aziraphale’s spine, feeling the angel shudder above him, the kick of hips against him. A press of fingers to a very specific spot and Aziraphale’s wings were out, spreading light in all their glory. Aziraphale whimpered in pleasure and Crowley swallowed the sound, letting his hands come back around to the angel’s hips. 

He didn’t dare open his eyes right now, not for the blinding light of his angel at full power. Instead, he traced kisses up Aziraphale’s jaw, let his wrist tilt with the tiny bucks of the angel’s hips. “Can you feel it?” he hissed. 

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly. “Crowley, please.” 

Crowley loved this. He loved absorbing the light of Aziraphale’s love, projecting his own, feeding into the feedback loop. He loved seeing his angel alight with love, weak with it, burning and blazing. 

Crowley belonged to the darkness, but he craved the sun, loved the sun, and there his sun was above him, begging for him. 

A quick miracle later, and Crowley was pulled from his reverie by Aziraphale sliding over him, groaning that familiar relief. Crowley cursed lowly as Aziraphale tipped his head back, breathing raggedly. “Take— oh, _fuck_ — take your time, angel.” 

And Aziraphale did, hands braced on Crowley’s chest, wings unfurled above them, the sunlight seeming to come straight from him. Crowley spent a moment in total awe.

And then Aziraphale moved again, rocking forward and then back again, and Crowley could feel himself coming apart. 

“Show me,” Aziraphale breathed, “show me your wings.”

In anything less than direct sunlight, Crowley’s wings were pitch black. But as he obliged, letting the force push him up slightly, his wings shone with blues and purples and greens, illuminated by Aziraphale’s light. Aziraphale hummed happily at the sight, his eyes half-lidded but full of pleasure, and reached down to touch a wing. 

“Fuck,” Crowley stuttered, overwhelmed by sensation. “Fuck, oh, angel, that feels so good—“ 

Aziraphale cut him off with a searing kiss, picking up tempo over him, guiding Crowley’s hands to his wing and his cock. Crowley stroked both. Aziraphale groaned, the end of the sound curling up in a way that shot straight through the demon. 

It was Crowley that came first, begging Aziraphale to follow him, fingers buried in soft, warm feathers, and the angel wasn’t far behind. He fell forward, shuddering and whimpering, and Crowley moved his hands up to cup the angel’s jaw, rubbing both thumbs across the angel’s cheeks. 

As the angel’s breathing slowly evened out, Crowley kissed him. He kissed his angel softly, mouth closed, lips, corner of the mouth, nose, forehead, chin, collarbone. He tried to bathe his angel in the same love he got from him, surround him in that sunny warmth. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, and the demon leaned back, still holding the angel’s face. 

Words did not need to be said. He helped the angel off of him, laid him down, wiped them both clean with another miracle. 

Aziraphale curled in against his side, letting a wing drape over the two of them to tangle with Crowley’s own wing. That warm glow still covered them both as Aziraphale traced patterns over Crowley’s skin. Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel and basked in this sunlight. 

He was infinitely glad for this breathing space, for this freedom from the forces of Above and Below, but he knew he would have flown to his death for just a taste of this. 

Aziraphale interrupted his thoughts by reaching up to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “My dearest,” he murmured, and Crowley grunted a question in response. “I do love you.”

“Love you too,” Crowley hummed back, scooting imperceptibly closer, soaking up the angel’s warmth.

The sun gleamed down on the two of them, canopy rustling softly above.


End file.
